#sobbing and crying I need to watch this again

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗜𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗕𝗔𝗗? lando norris x girlfriend! reader ( smut ) fic summary . . . lando had you cumming his fingers twice and once more but it's not what you want, you need him, doesn't matter that you can barely talk or the fact that your shaking (589 words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

CONTENT WARNING — ( +18 MDNI, smut, dom lando, overstim, sub reader, pnv, unprotected sex [wrap it before you tap it], did I say overstim? )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your legs are shaking. You don’t know what time it is. You don’t know your name. All you know is him.

Lando is grinning down at you, smug and glowing, two fingers still slick and shiny where they rest against your inner thigh — the same fingers that had you screaming just minutes ago, the same fingers that’d curled inside you like they were searching for treasure, and fuck, they found it.

Twice.

And then once more, just to watch you cry a little.

“You’re ruined,” he says sweetly, like it’s a compliment. Like he’s proud. And he is. So fucking proud of the way you tremble, the way your thighs stay open just for him, even when your body’s all done and your mind is soup. He leans in, kisses your cheek, all soft and sugar. “You still with me?”

You nod — kind of. It’s pathetic. It’s precious. Your voice is so thin when you speak, Lando could drink it like a milkshake.

“Need you,” you whisper. “Wanna feel you, Lan. Please, please, please—”

He chuckles, but it’s not mean.

 “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

His hand traces up your side, warm and grounding. “Didn’t I just make you come so hard you forgot how to speak?”

You whimper. A high-pitched, helpless sound.

“That doesn’t count,” you whine. “It wasn’t you. Need your cock. Need you to fuck me. Please, Lando. Please.”

Your hips roll up without permission, chasing the idea of him, even though you’re so sensitive it burns.

Lando watches with stars in his eyes. “God, you’re unreal,” he breathes. “You want it that bad, baby?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “I—I ache for you, I—fuck—I can take it, I promise—”

“You’re already trembling,” he hums, sliding his hand between your thighs again, gently cupping the mess he’s made. “Poor thing. Look how messy you are for me.”

You can’t even answer. Just whine. Just need.

He leans in again, pressing a kiss to your throat like a reward. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’ve got you. Let’s make that pretty little brain of yours even mushier, hmm?”

He lines himself up, slow and careful, hands on your hips like he’s anchoring you to the earth.

And then—

Oh.

He’s inside.

All the way.

You cry out, legs twitching. The stretch, the heat, the fullness— it’s too much. it’s everything.

You’re so sensitive it feels like being lit up from the inside.

Lando’s groan is pure filth. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he pants, jaw clenched. “Still so wet for me. Good girl. You’re taking me so, so well.”

He starts slow. Deep. Gentle. But every thrust pushes you higher, makes your body jerk, makes your eyes roll back.

You’re sobbing now, overwhelmed and fucked-out and wrecked, but your hands are on his back, pulling him closer, dragging him deeper, chasing every last drop of him like you’ll die without it.

“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s me. All of me, baby. Giving you everything.”

You nod, tearful, voice cracked.

 “I love you,” you sob. “Love your cock, love you—”

And that’s it. That’s what shatters him. His rhythm stutters and he buries his face in your neck like he’s praying.

“I love you too,” he gasps. “So much. You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

And when you come again — when you fall apart with his name on your lips and stars behind your eyelids — he follows, moaning into your skin, whispering how proud he is, how good you are, how he’ll never stop taking care of you.

Even when you’re mush. Especially then.

[captain-huggy-bear]

congrats on 100 😘 may i request ““hey… hey… why are you crying?” with soft dom quinn hughes

Quinn is just soft dom all the time, just naturally effortlessly soft dom. 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You're not sure what's wrong with you, you can't explain why you feel the way you do or why you've bundled yourself up into the blankets of the bed you share with Quinn. You're not sure why you're crying in the little cocoon that you've made, you can't pin point what has you so emotional, you don't even really feel sad. You just can't stop crying. It's like your overwhelmed, body just trying to let it all out one way or another.

It's how Quinn finds you after he gets home from practice for his mid-morning nap. You're curled in the covers, sobs causing them to shake from where you're hidden underneath. There's little hesitation before he's dropping his kit bag by the bedroom door and sitting next to the lump that is your form.

A hand falls onto your body over the duvet, smoothing over what Quinn thinks is your shoulder. You still briefly but the sobs start up again like you can't stop them, can't control them.

“Hey… hey… why are you crying, baby?” He tugs back the covers, peels them back until he can see your face, splotchy from crying, pillow wet underneath you. It's obvious you've been crying for a while.

"I d-don't k-k-know!"

Quinn shifts himself to lie down next to you, propped up by a pillow. Hands reaching for you and tugging you towards him. "Okay, okay...C'mere, sweet girl." You let him pull you across his body until your lying flat against him, face pressed into his chest as you cry, "Atta girl..."

There's no attempt to tell you to calm down, no attempt to tell you you're being silly or to just stop. Instead Quinn tucks you against him; one arm wrapping around your waist to rub circles into your lower back, while his other sinks into your hair.

Quinn's fingers scratch across your scalp and run through your hair, untangling each strand carefully. Each movement is purposefully slow, calming in a way that's hard to really explain. Like with each pass of his fingers across your lower back, each untangled strand, some of that weird feeling starts to ease in your chest.

You clutch at him like he's a lifeline, face pressed straight into his t-shirt, breathing him in even as your tears wet the fabric. "You're doing so well, baby...so brave, yeah?" There's no upset from Quinn about it, he doesn't care that his shirt is getting wet or that his nap isn't happening. He just wants you to be okay.

It's the basis of your relationship; he takes care of you. It's a purpose for him, a desire, he needs to meet your needs because it helps him feel fulfilled, because it makes him happy. So he doesn't mind holding you like this, doesn't mind being soft and quiet for you, however long it takes.

"'m sorry..." You're still crying, less aggressively, but it's still happening even as you try to apologise but Quinn just shushes you, stroking your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"You're fine, baby, just let it out, yeah? 's all good."

So you do. You cry and cry and cry until it's impossible for you to cry anymore, until the tears have dried and while exhausted you feel better, feel more like yourself.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thirsty though..." Your throat feels dry as a desert, tongue catching on the roof of your mouth as you rub at your eyes and sit upright for the first time in a few hours.

"Wait here, I'll get you some water, baby." It's effortless and instinctual the way that Quinn tucks the duvet around you before going to get you a glass of water.

It's brought to you at your preferred temperature and he watches you like a hawk while you drink, making sure you're actually drinking and not just sipping.

"You hungry?" As you sip Quinn's fingers are brushing your hair down, neatening the strands and wiping at some of the last droplets of water across your chin. There's a gentleness in each movement, care like all he wants to do is make sure you're looked after.

"A little..." You admit, biting on your lip, not wanting to be a bother.

"Sweet? Savoury? Spicy?"

"Sweet..." God, you'd kill for a bunch of sugar right now. You know you shouldn't consume large amounts, not good for you and probably not the best idea when your blood sugar is all over the place but...you really want something sweet.

"Okay, once you've drunk the entire glass I'll order you something sweet to eat: cookies? waffles? crepes? cake?"

The way you bite your lip as you look at him tells him enough, you can't choose, never been good at it, not when sweet treats are involved. Always wanting a bite out of everything.

"All?" He smiles at you knowingly and you nod with a bashful smile because he knows you so well at this point that there's no point hiding from it or avoiding it.

"Maybe a little of everything..."

"Anything for my baby."

[whor3ing]

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑩𝒆𝒈 | 𝑪.𝑺

― 𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ REAL MAN , BEABADOOBEE

sub!chris sturniolo x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, facesitting, submissive, oral (m receiving), edging, denial, praise and usage of "good boy"

word count : 1kish

―Chris is trembling beneath you—wrists tied to the headboard, flushed face buried between your thighs, mouth open and needy, but you're not letting him have what he wants. Not yet.

You grind forward, just enough for your slick to coat his lips, your thighs caging his flushed face, but you don’t let him lick. Not properly. Not until he earns it.

“Please,” he whimpers, voice muffled against your cunt. His hips buck uselessly beneath you, cock red and leaking, twitching where it rests against his stomach. He’s a mess—sweaty, glassy-eyed, chest rising in frantic, desperate breaths. “Baby, please, I’ll be good—I’ll be so fucking good.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to tilt his head back, make his eyes meet yours from below. He looks ruined. Glossy lashes wet with frustrated tears, lips swollen from the teasing drag of your cunt across them.

“You think you’ve earned it, baby?” you coo, slow and cruel, rolling your hips just enough to make him sob. “You think you deserve to come after acting like a little brat all day?”

His jaw flexes, neck strained against the ties, voice cracking when he moans, “I-I’m sorry—fuck, I’m so sorry. Please just let me taste you, I can’t—can’t take it—”

You smirk, rocking forward, finally letting yourself settle fully on his face. Chris moans like you’ve given him salvation, his tongue instantly lapping at you with such desperate hunger it makes your thighs shake. He’s sloppy with it—greedy, messy, moaning into your cunt like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

“That’s it,” you breathe, grinding down on him, letting him drown in you. “That’s what you’re good for, baby. Just lay there and take it.”

Chris nods, or tries to, his mouth never leaving your pussy. He’s delirious with it, whimpering into you, nose pressed firm against your clit as his tongue flicks and swirls, desperate to pull a moan from you—desperate to please.

But you don’t let it last. Just when his hips start to rut up again, when his tongue starts to get a little too eager—you pull off him. And the noise that leaves his throat is devastated.

“No—no, no please—” he gasps, hips stuttering, cock twitching helplessly. “Please, baby, I was good—I was so good for you, please don’t stop now, please let me come—please.”

You lean forward, dragging your fingers through the slick on his chin, watching him pant beneath you, broken and aching, his cock leaking against his stomach.

“Poor thing,” you whisper, smearing your wetness across his lips. “So fucked out just from eating pussy. Didn’t even get to touch me properly and you’re already crying.”

He nods, lip trembling, voice nearly gone. “Yours,” he whispers, “I’m yours—please, use me—fuck me, anything, just—please.”

Your smile is slow, wicked, as you crawl your way back down his body, the tip of your finger dragging over the flushed head of his cock, smearing the precum leaking down his length.

“Anything?” you hum, tilting your head. “You’d let me do anything I wanted to you right now, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Chris whimpers, nodding frantically, wrists tugging against the ties that keep him splayed out for you. “Yes—yes, fuck, anything, just need you—please, I need to come so bad—hurts, baby, please—”

His voice breaks again, hips twitching up into the air, chasing even the ghost of your touch.

You settle between his legs, breath ghosting over the flushed tip of his cock, and the broken sound that leaves him is almost inhuman.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, eyes flicking up to meet his. “You looked so pretty crying for it, Chris. So desperate and pathetic under me. Maybe I want to see how far I can push you.”

He chokes on a moan, thighs shaking, toes curling where his feet are pressed into the bed.

“Please,” he breathes, eyes glassy, “I-I’ll do anything, you can use me however you want, just—fuck, please let me come, I’ve been so good for you—”

You press your lips to the inside of his thigh instead of his cock, soft and warm, and watch his whole body tremble beneath the touch.

“You think begging makes you good?” you purr, licking a slow stripe up his thigh. “Think I’m just gonna let you come because you’re crying for it?”

He nods weakly, completely fucking gone, hips jerking when your breath fans over the head of his cock again.

“Please—please, baby, I need it, I c-can’t take anymore, I—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, finally wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing just tight enough to make him gasp, “I don’t think you can’t take it. I think you like it.”

He moans, loud and wrecked, hips stuttering into your grip as his head slams back against the pillows.

“You like being teased until you cry,” you whisper, pumping him slow, agonizing, “like being denied until your body aches. You like being my good little toy, all tied up and helpless, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Chris sobs, legs shaking, whole body tense. “Yes, I love it—love being yours, just yours, please, please—”

You lean down and finally take him in your mouth—and the sound that rips from his throat is filthy, high-pitched and desperate and completely broken.

But you don’t let him come. You suck him until he’s right there—right on the fucking edge, balls tight, thighs trembling—and then you pull off, lips shiny, spit-slicked fingers wrapping around him again just to hold him in that torturous place.

Chris screams, voice cracking as he writhes against the sheets, cock twitching violently in your grip.

“No—please!” he sobs, cheeks wet, back arching off the bed. “I-I’ll do anything—please, let me come, I’m begging you—”

And that’s when you finally smile.

“Good boy,” you murmur, stroking him harder now, faster. “Come for me, Chris. Make a mess. Show me who you belong to.”

He doesn’t last a second.

Chris shatters, sobbing your name as he comes hard, spilling across his stomach in thick, hot pulses, body shaking beneath you like he’s being ripped apart.

And you just watch, licking your lips, letting him ride it out, his chest heaving, his throat raw from the sounds he made just for you.

You wipe a bit of his cum from his stomach and slide it between his lips, watching him suck your fingers greedily, still whimpering.

“Mine,” you whisper, leaning in close to kiss his temple.

“Always,” he breathes, voice wrecked and shaking. “Always yours.”

sub!chratt next baddies ... ooo

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

🖇 -@chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @v4lsturn @shitttttypoet @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13 @divinesturn @aaliyahsturniolo @chris-hallelujah @mi-co-uk @ivysturnss @sweetpeabreezyree @christophersgf @bluestriips @angelic-sturniolos111 @shadowthesim237 @bee-43 @eeyoresturnz @ellssturn @fratbrochrisgf @teddystvrns @pvssychicken @ribbonlovergirl @chrisspussygang @vanteguccir @tits4matt @bambisturns @luvs4matt @delilahsturniolo <3

[mysteriousxgirls]

She watched him for a moment. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sat there, staring at him like she was trying to memorize the shape of his shadow, the exact line of tension drawn through his jaw. He understood. She saw it in the slight twitch of his fingers on the wheel, in the way he didn’t look at her but still listened. He knew what she meant when she said she had his number. He knew she would come for him—again and again. That she wouldn’t leave him alone, not anymore. That was enough. She didn’t need a reply, not really. The silence between them held everything. “Even if I wanted to come follow you, I couldn’t,” she whispered, voice so soft it barely reached the space between them. She leaned back again, settling into the seat as though she could hide inside herself if she tried hard enough. Her body ached, her foot pulsed, her heart beat with something slow and heavy and tired.

Then he spoke again—cold, detached, like he was reading from a script he’d written long ago. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. “I know, Az. I know I shouldn’t,” she said, louder now, clearer. Her voice steadier than it had been in hours. “But I do.” He didn’t want her. Maybe he never had. Maybe he never would. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going anywhere. She nodded once—just once—then turned and looked at him, really looked at him. The angles of his face carved in tension, shadow stitched under his eyes, danger hanging off him like a second skin. And still, she didn’t regret it. With that, she opened the door. The pain hit her instantly, sharp and white-hot as her injured foot met the ground. But she didn’t cry out. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her stumble. She stood, shoulders square, jaw clenched—and walked. No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder. She just moved, slow and steady, up the long steps to her front door and disappeared inside without another word.

As soon as the door shut behind her, the weight hit. Luna leaned against the wood, hands clutching her chest like she could hold herself together by sheer force. But it didn’t work. Her eyes burned, and the tears came before she could stop them. Hot and fast and blinding. Her body shook as the sobs tore through her—ragged, desperate, uncontrollable. It was everything. The pain. The fear. The way his voice had sounded like he didn’t care if she lived or died. And underneath it all, the truth: she still cared. She still cared. But crying wouldn’t change anything. It never did. So after a few minutes, she wiped her eyes with trembling fingers, pushed off the door, and dragged herself to the bathroom. The tub filled slowly, steam curling into the air as she dropped in some expensive rose-scented bubbles—something comforting, something normal. Then she peeled off the clothes she’d been wearing for hours—stiff with blood, smelling like metal, filth, him. She stepped into the water with a sharp inhale, the sting from her foot searing as the heat touched the wound. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t hesitate. The clear water clouded almost immediately, turning murky with red and brown and all the things she needed to forget. She sank lower into the tub, letting the warmth crawl over her skin, letting her muscles melt, letting her eyes close for just a second.

She needed to breathe.

And for now, that was enough.

The car rolled to a halt, the tires biting into the pavement with a sharp, final sound, as if the world itself had drawn a breath and now waited. The mention of Bob made something stir in him, a flicker of annoyance he quickly pushed aside. She knew more than she should. The way she had taken that piece of information, the way she held it like a quiet weapon, made something dark coil in his gut. Her knowing his number, her ability to track him, was a vulnerability he couldn’t afford. She was dangerous, in her own way—dangerous because she understood too much, and yet, she was still so damn naïve. The unnerving part was how she said it. Like it wasn’t a threat—just a fact. She didn’t need to be loud or dramatic. She just needed to let him know that no matter how far he ran, how well he hid, she would always find him. And he hated that. Hated the way she was stitching herself into the seams of his life without even realising it.

Azriel’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles pale, the tendons straining. His gaze remained fixed on the empty road ahead, but the tension in his body was ready to snap. The weight of his presence seemed to fill the space, dark and foreboding, like a shadow that had grown too large to ignore. “Stay inside today and tomorrow,” his voice sliced through the silence, low and measured, every word deliberate. A warning wrapped in ice. “Don't come following me.” There was a calculated coldness in his tone, the kind that made the air feel colder, as though the temperature itself had dropped with his words.

The silence between them thickened, becoming more oppressive with every passing second. “I’m not a man you should care about,” he said, each word like a hammer, driving its point home with chilling precision. “And you’re not a person I need to worry about.” There was no trace of hesitation, no softness in his words—only cold, calculated truth. The finality was undeniable, a sentence delivered without mercy. The door clicked open with a sound that shattered the heavy quiet, a sharp, metallic noise that reverberated through the air. His eyes never left her as he leaned forward, his voice dropping lower, every syllable weighed down with threat. “Now get out,” he ordered, the words slow, deliberate. The finality of his tone left no room for argument, no room for protest.

[seokmn]

︵⠀IN THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT ⠀◌Ⳋ ✧ ── when the anger speaks louder and you forget that words can cut like a knife, you need to reassure the broken person that your heart is still full of them and to promise to be better.

pairing: sungho x gn!reader wc: 1.1k words warnings: mentions of alcohol

ᯓ★ “and i said i wouldn’t call, but i’m a little drunk and i need you now”

Letting out your anger and saying things you don’t really mean to in the middle of a fight is not right, but it’s also not a sin. Sometimes you don’t even notice that the words came out until you see the person’s reaction.

That’s why you and Sungho were always careful about the choice of words when you were fighting, but this time the argument was too intense, too hurtful. Things came out of your lips that you wish they didn’t, the three cursed words included. I hate you.

God, you would do anything to get back in time and never say the things that you said to Sungho. You wanted him to feel hurt as much as you were feeling, but at what cost? The look on his face as he heard you was slowly turning into an extremely hurt expression. It felt like you were watching you break his heart in a matter of seconds.

He didn’t even fight back, he just turned around and left without any excuses or explanations. You couldn’t say he was wrong for doing that, you would’ve probably done the same thing as him.

When the anger subsided, you found yourself at a bar, drinking to forget your mistakes and sorrows. You knew that you should go after Sungho and apologize, tell him how much you love him and promise that you’ll do your best to never repeat that same mistake again. But you didn’t have the courage to do so.

After a couple bottles of soju, the alcohol had intoxicated you already as you found yourself all alone and remembering all the sweet moments you had with him. How you first met him, all those serenades, the nights full of laughter or full of passion, the times when he kissed and praised your insecurities and showed you how much he loves you and finds you perfect, all the promises of a beautiful and nurturing future together.

Tears started to fall from your eyes abruptly as you mumbled his name and felt your heart ache. You needed to apologize to him, to show him that you could never hate him, that your heart was so full of him that it couldn't even be called yours anymore.

Your fingers tapped the phone’s screen as you dialed his number like the act of calling his number became such an habit that it’s now a part of your autopilot mode. Once he picked up, your phone was already glued to your ear.

“Sungho? Love…?” The pet name came out hesitantly, as if you were scared of saying it.

There was a brief silence before you finally heard the voice that you were dying to hear the entire night. “I’m here.” You let out a shaky sigh when he spoke up, sobering up when you took note of his tired and teary tone.

“I… I need you, Sungho,” you inhaled, trying to take a deep breath, even with your nostrils clogged from crying so much. “I need you here with me. I think I drank a little too much and I really wish you were here… I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I didn’t mean any of that,” you let out a sob and looked around the bar, trying to find him even though you knew he wasn’t there. “You know I love you more than anything in this world.”

“Are you at the bar near your place?”

“Yes…”

“Don’t move, I’m on my way.”

After a few minutes of staring at the bar’s door that seemed like hours, you saw the door opening for the 10th time, but this time it was Sungho who was entering the bar. He looked around and when his eyes landed on your face, you could see his expression softening.

“Sungho…” You mumbled and smiled when you saw him walking towards you. His hand found your cheek as he lifted your face and studied it, making sure that you weren’t too drunk. You looked up at him and leaned into his touch. “You came.”

He sighed and took a seat next to you before asking for the bartender a cup of water. “You called.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you.” He kept his eye on the bartender, watching him fill up a glass of water and place it on the counter right in front of you.

You frowned. “You should be, I hurt you, I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m not mad,” he looked at you. “I’m upset, Y/N. It’s not easy to hear your partner that you love so much telling you that they hate you and a lot more shit.”

“I know,” you bit your lower lip in order to not cry. “And I know that what I did was wrong, but I didn’t mean any of that. I was hurt and wanted to hurt you as well. I’m so sorry, Sungho.” You took his hand and held it like you were holding the most precious diamond in your hands. “You are my everything and I shouldn’t have said all those things. In the heat of the moment I broke your heart — something I promised myself I would never do. I can’t take what I said back, but I can prove to you that I don’t think any of that and that that shit will never happen again. Please, can you forgive me?”

Sungho took a deep breath and wiped away your tears with a gentle touch, his thumb caressing the skin under your eyes. His lips turned into a little smile that warmed up your heart. “Ah, Y/N…” He pressed his lips against your forehead for a moment and leaned back looking into your eyes. “What should I do to you, hm?”

Sungho chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled at him, your body felt light and you felt funny, and you didn’t know if it was because of your boyfriend or because of the alcohol.

“We make mistakes, it’s what makes us humans. But don’t do that to me again, my heart won’t take it. I thought I would die when you told me those things.”

You nodded repeatedly. “I promise you I will never do that again. I love you way too much and it hurts me to know that I upset you.”

Sungho pressed his lips against your forehead once again before letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

“No. Maybe,” you giggled. “Just a little bit.”

“Gonna let you rest for a moment before I take you home, okay? Gonna take care of the love of my life. But once you’re sober, you give me the best princess treatment ever because I deserve it.”

You chuckled and gave him a quick peck on his neck. “Got it, Sungho, my special princess.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Sungho, more than you can imagine.

[notablenotions]

Mask's of Noblity-Chapter 24:

She was human.

Hans Capon had known this intellectually. Legally. On paper. It was, after all, a requirement for marriage.

But it had never felt real before. Not like last night. Not like this morning. Not with the blood and the shaking hands and the soft breath of her sleeping against him.

She was human. A female human. With... with a waist. And... breasts. And those lips. Those lips he’d looked at far too long for a man in a devoted love affair with another man.

“Fuck,” Hans muttered as he half-ran, half-stumbled through the keep, his thoughts a jumbled snarl of guilt, lust, confusion, and a haunting memory of Jitka sleepily wrapped like a very sarcastic sausage roll. “What even was that.”

There was only one person who could possibly fix this. Only one man who knew his soul, his sins, and once held his hair back while he threw up at a monastery.

He needed Henry.

He burst into the barracks and slammed open the door to Henry’s office.

It had changed.

There were now two desks. Two. The small room was crammed with parchment, embroidery hoops, weapons maintenance logs, and a deeply concerning pile of dried herbs that smelled vaguely like pine and guilt. Henry sat at his desk, calm as a monk, needle in hand, embroidering a man weeping into a turnip.

He looked up, blinked once, and said, “Are you alright?”

Like this was normal. Like Hans bursting in like a harlot on fire was part of the routine.

Hans paced. He paced like a man possessed. “No, I am not alright. I—she—last night she broke and I held her and then this morning I looked at her lips and she looked at me and there was drool and blankets and fuck, Henry, I think I almost kissed my wife!”

Henry set the embroidery aside slowly. Folded his hands. Watched Hans with a familiar look of long-suffering amusement.

Hans flailed.

“I’m committed to you! Entirely! Monogamously! I haven’t even noticed another man or woman since you walked into my life with your sodding jawline and your brooding! And now she’s got feelings and breasts and I’m concerned! Do you know how horrifying that is?”

Henry tilted his head. “You’re upset because you’re attracted to a woman. Who is also your wife.”

“Yes!” Hans flailed again. “And you’re not even—jealous!?”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Hans. Our relationship was founded on drinking, hunting, war, and wenching. You remember wenching, don’t you?”

Hans opened his mouth. Closed it. Blinked.

Henry smirked. “You remember that tavern near Uzhitz. The one with the twins and the red wine and the hay loft.”

“That was an intense spiritual male friendship,” Hans muttered defensively.

“We wenched,” Henry said, grinning. “Together. Eye contact and all.”

Hans made a noise like a kicked lute. “That was different! That was—bonding!”

Henry shrugged. “We wenched. And we always knew you’d have to marry. Produce heirs. I didn’t expect monogamy. Frankly, I thought you’d have bedded her by now.”

Hans looked vaguely scandalized. “She terrifies me.”

“She recommends balms, Hans,” Henry deadpanned. “She tells me which oils won’t chafe. That’s not terrifying. That’s... supportive. Thoughtful. She even cancelled embroidery today because your wrapping job turned her hands into linen hives.”

Hans covered his face with both hands. “I should have left. I should have not held her. But she sobbed. And she looked so—small. And then she started crying about lemon cakes and being alone and—”

Henry stood, moved closer. His voice gentled.

“I know what she’s like. And I know how she breaks. She’s not easy, but she’s kind, in her way. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hans peeked through his fingers. “But I wanted to kiss her.”

Henry paused. Thought about that.

Then said, “You still want me, don’t you?”

“Desperately.”

“Then that part hasn’t changed.” He smiled, small and sure. “I’m still very attracted to women, Hans. It doesn’t shut off because of you. And I don’t deny that, because denying that would be denying me.”

He walked back to his desk, picked up the turnip man again.

“And let’s be honest,” Henry added, stabbing the needle through cloth, “Jitka’s arse is a masterpiece sent by God to ruin men.”

Hans choked.

“That’s my wife!”

Henry smirked. “And I say this as a man who respects you both: the way she walks? Scandalous. Should be outlawed.”

“You’re a monster.”

Henry grinned. “You’re the one who married her.”

Hans slumped dramatically into the chair across from him, covering his eyes again. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re evolving,” Henry said dryly. “Like a very dramatic beetle.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Henry stitching, Hans trying not to cry.

Then Hans murmured, “You really aren’t jealous?”

Henry looked at him, serious now. “What hurt, once, was the fear. That she’d take you away from me. That marriage would mean I lost you. But I haven’t. Not really. And honestly? I think I’ve found a friend in her.”

He paused. Then added with a smile, “Or a very annoyed younger sister.”

Hans snorted. “She’s feral. I once saw her blackmail a bishop into apologizing for using too much incense.”

Henry nodded solemnly. “That tracks.”

And like that, the storm passed.

Hans felt lighter. Not solved—but steadier. Seen.

He watched Henry stitch a weeping turnip with the focus of a scholar and thought, I love this man. And I’m possibly developing feelings for my terrifying embroidery tyrant wife. I’m doomed.

And somehow, he didn’t mind.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

| "...nothing's gonna hurt you, baby, as long as you're with me, you'll be just fine, nothing's gonna hurt you, baby, nothing's gonna take you from my side..." | written based on a request :)) |

Sometimes, Coriolanus wishes he could keep his wife away from the world and the cruelty it brings, like a rose in a greenhouse.

Right now, he wishes more than anything that he could just make the pain go away, make her stop crying. He hates it when Soarynn cries. Hates the sharp little gasps that leave her lips, hates how her entire frame trembles, hates how her lip quivers, and she stumbles over her words.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, doing his best to soothe over her gaping wound that is her heart. "I...I'm gonna quit," she gets out, more tears fall down her cheeks. Coriolanus sighs, gently rubbing his hand up and down her side. She's frustrated, and rightfully so.

The Capitol Art Museum opened up its doors for aspiring artists to show off some of their work, and Soarynn was more than happy to bring in some of her paintings. They're beautifully done, and he's not just saying that because he's her husband.

She spent days making sure everything was perfect, and then insisted that they come to the Museum early so she could set up her table. He had watched her fuss over where to put each painting, checking to see if the tablecloth was placed right in the middle of the table.

Not to mention this morning, when she spent a good thirty minutes trying to pick out an outfit.

All that work for no one to show up.

Well, people came, but they paid her little table tucked away in the corner no mind. He's already plotting to write the Museum Board a very nasty letter about the entire thing. How she got shoved into that dark, sad corner is beyond him.

Soarynn is a Snow.

She should be treated as such.

But right now, she needs to be treated like glass, like the delicate porcelain doll he knows she can be. His lips press against the part in her soft blonde hair, if only he could kiss the pain away that easily. "Don't quit, darling, I know things didn't turn out the way you wanted them to, but don't give them the satisfaction by quitting altogether."

Soarynn sniffles, which breaks his heart even more.

He hates it when she cries.

"You did so good, darling," he praises her, "they were fools to ignore you, and I want you to know that I'm going to do everything in my power to fix this, to make this right."

She doesn't know that people might die for this little misunderstanding, but that's okay. Soarynn is so blissfully unaware of the power she holds over him, how he'd kill for her, die for her.

"I wanna go home," she mumbles, ignoring his words of advice.

They haven't even left the museum yet, Soarynn was too embarrassed to walk out with all of her artwork, and once the tears came, he knew they'd be here for a while. So, he pulled them into an empty office off one of the hallways, figuring some privacy would be appreciated.

"You're sure? You don't want to go look around at your favorite exhibits?"

Soarynn normally loves to look at everything, dragging him around whilst telling him facts about every sculpture or painting. "I hate art," she says, shoving him in the chest. His brows scrunch together in confusion. Where has his sweet little angel gone?

"Hey now, I haven't done anything, darling," he gently reminds her, resting his hands on her shoulders, "you needn't take it out on me too." Soarynn looks down at her shoes, embarrassed, tired, upset, angry, and sad. All things he tries to keep her far away from.

Her next words are barely audible. "I'm sorry."

And then come the tears again, hot and quick to run down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake as she sobs, and Coriolanus is quick to pull her right back into his chest, holding her so tight, keeping her safe from the dangers of this world.

The world can be so cruel to sweet things like her, so mean and hateful. Soarynn grew up with an adoring father who gave her everything she could ever want, and Coriolanus has done his best to continue giving Soarynn the same level of care.

She's so good, so kind and sweet. She deserves the best and only the best.

Her breaths begin to grow more and more uneven, as if she's hyperventilating. Coriolanus takes her delicate face into his large hands, looking down into her glassy eyes that are filled with anguish and anxiety. "Soarynn, Soarynn, it's alright darling. It's alright, take a deep breath for me, okay?"

But she's far past reconciliation. Her breathing grows even more erratic, and Coriolanus grows more worried by the second. Her cheeks are flushed, her hands are shaking, more tears are streaming down her face.

Coriolanus is starting to freak out. Is she okay? Does he need to take her to the hospital?

Her entire frame trembles, and he quickly grabs her waist, lifting her up effortlessly so he can sit her down on the empty desk. It does little to settle her nerves, and she reaches out to him with shaking hands. "You're alright," he murmurs, lacing his fingers between hers, "you're alright. Just breathe in and out for me, sweet girl. In and out. Just like that. You're doing so well, darling."

Coriolanus remains in front of her, maintaining eye contact while Soarynn takes in a few shaky yet deep breaths to help her calm down. "Good," he says, blowing out the air in his body with her, "just like that."

He can tell that she's embarrassed over what happened in the gallery and what's happening now. But he didn't marry a woman without flaws, a woman who wouldn't crumple every once in a while under societal pressure. Soarynn always tries her best to be perfect, which often leads to her breaking down under the pressure she places on herself.

Coriolanus has never expected her to be perfect. If she were, then she wouldn't be the woman he fell in love with all those years ago.

Soarynn's breathing starts to level out, so he moves on to helping her feel more grounded. "Very good, darling. Now, close your eyes, close your eyes and just listen to the world around you." He can hear birds chirping outside the windows and footsteps in the large Museum exhibit rooms.

He steps forward, closing the short distance between them, and rests a hand on the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. She isn't crying anymore, she's moved on to small sniffles and hiccups.

The worst is over.

"It's okay," he whispers, "it's okay. You're okay, Soarynn. Just a little anxious is all." Coriolanus does his best to look to the future with confidence. Soarynn doesn't share his point of view, often spiraling over things she can't control.

One time, he woke up to her crying in the middle of the night because she had a dream that he had died. Even though he assured her that he was perfectly fine, she still took a while to calm down and fall asleep.

Soarynn rests her head against his chest, eyes shut, breathing even once again.

Coriolanus rubs his thumb over the back of her hand, helping to ground her. "I...I want something to drink," she whispers against his coat. Soarynn had been ready to flee the museum and never return, urging him to put on his coat and gloves so they could leave.

This was before the tears started flowing.

Coriolanus nods even though her eyes are still shut. "We can get you something to drink. Do you want something warm or something cold?"

Soarynn raises her head, and her eyes finally open. They're red from all the crying she's done, but the tears are no more. "Warm, please."

He smiles, even when she's sad, she's so cute and polite.

"Warm it is, darling," he promises, bending down to kiss her forehead. "Do you want to go to the museum cafe for a dri-"

"No," she cuts him off with a more determined, steady tone, "I want to leave." The correct thing to do would be to stay here and face her fears. But Coriolanus has never enjoyed making her feel uncomfortable. He's tried to do it before, and it's never ended well for him in the past. It always ends in tears.

"Alright. We can leave," he easily agrees, "let's wipe those eyes first, hmm?" He fishes in his pocket for a handkerchief; he's carried one since he can remember. It used to be out of habit, but now it's just in case he needs to wipe some tears or blow a stuffy nose.

Soarynn allows him to gently wipe any traces of tears, sitting perfectly still with her hands in her lap. "I don't mean to be dramatic," she whispers. Coriolanus shakes his head at those words. He's met dramatic women, and Soarynn is not one of them.

She's sensitive. There's a difference.

"You could never be dramatic, my angel," he gently promises her.

Soarynn doesn't look entirely convinced, but she does look entirely out of tears for the time being. Perhaps it would be best to leave before more can be made. "Why don't we go to your favorite coffee shop and get you a hot chocolate?" Soarynn doesn't really care for coffee, but she loves hot chocolate.

"Okay," she mumbles, wiping her eyes, "that sounds nice."

He offers her a hand to hop off the desk, and she gladly takes it. Coriolanus always craves touch, he needs to have his hands on her at all times. Not even in a sexual manner per se, but because she grounds him. He loves holding her hand or wrapping an arm around her waist. In more public settings, he'll rest a hand on her lower back, a possessive display of affection.

Soarynn doesn't crave it as much as he does, not in public at least. She prefers to crawl all over him at home. If he's working, she'll come sit in his lap, wrapping her limbs around him like a contortionist. If they're in bed, she always has to be the little spoon, and if she's not, then she's lying right on top of him.

Right now, however, she needs his touch as much as he needs hers. Coriolanus leads them back into the hallway and begins his evil plans to destroy everyone who had anything to do with today's disaster.

He'll do anything to keep his sweet, darling girl happy.

꧁ ꧂

That night, after getting Soarynn some hot chocolate, a muffin, and then taking her shopping, Coriolanus watches her play with Petunia, her spoiled cat. Despite their distinct rivalry, Coriolanus is glad for the happiness that Petunia provides for Soarynn.

It's just so unfortunate that she provides nothing but annoyance for him.

The cat is a menace. She'll scratch him, pee in his shoes, eat his socks. She even swallowed one, which led to a very expensive overnight stay at the vet for her.

Besides that, he's sure she's a very pleasant cat.

Soarynn giggles while Petunia follows around a string tied to a stick, which apparently, counts as a cat toy at the pet shop. Petunia bats at it, jumping on her hind legs when Soarynn lifts it up. Coriolanus sips his bourbon, a necessary evil after another long day, and looks back at the letter he's started to draft to the Capitol Art Museum Board.

To whom it may concern, I am writing to the Capitol Art Museum Board to file an official complaint due to what occurred today, on March 25th, during the Aspiring Artists Event. My wife, Soarynn Snow, partook in the event and was severely mistreated and undervalued at your event today. No assistance was offered to her, nor was a more prominent table space compared to the other Artists. My wife was shoved into a dark corner, completely ignored by you and your staff. I am writing to inform you that I intend to press charges and seek legal action against the mistreatment my wife experienced today.

He can always tweak it.

"Oh Coryo, look at how smart she is."

Coriolanus looks back down at Petunia, who has finally managed to capture the string. She looks very proud of herself. "Yes, darling," he agrees for the sake of her happiness, "she's the smartest cat there is. Why don't you come sit with me for a bit, hmm?"

Soarynn can hardly deny her husband such a request. She might shy away in public, but at home, she's bolder, braver. She doesn't bother standing up, she just crawls over to his desk, which does dark things to his mind.

Coriolanus loves having Soarynn in his lap even more when he's buried inside of her. Not tonight, though. She's had a rough day, and sex can make her more emotional if she's not feeling confident in herself.

Coriolanus chuckles when her head comes between his spread legs, she's like a cat in a lot of ways, purring when he scratches her just right. "My pretty girl," he murmurs, threading his fingers through her soft hair. Soarynn closes her eyes, leaning into his touch, eager to feel his nails on her scalp.

"Coryo?"

"Yes?"

"Can we get another cat?"

Coriolanus stops scratching her scalp, stunned by such a bold and horrible question. Soarynn's eyes open, filled with hope and mischief.

"I don't think so, darling," he says, shaking his head at the mere thought of another Petunia. Soarynn finally crawls into his lap, wrapping her legs around his torso. "Please? Please, please, please? You know how anxious I get, and another cat would make me feel so much better!"

Coriolanus looks over her shoulder, where Petunia is watching him with her beady little eyes. "Well, it would not make me feel better," he tells her, "in fact, I think it would heighten my anxiety."

Soarynn pouts, and she's so cute when she does it. "How about a baby?" He offers, kissing the tip of her nose. She makes a confused face, clearly not expecting him to take this route. "A baby?" She repeats, resting her hands on his shoulders. Coriolanus nods, holding her by the waist, "Mhm. A baby, a little girl who would look just like you. Wouldn't that be nice?"

They've been married for three years now, and Coriolanus has been thinking about children more and more recently. How wonderful would it be to have a daughter to call his own?

"I guess," she mumbles, grabbing the collar of his shirt with one hand. "But what if it's a boy?" He shrugs, not really caring too much about the gender. As long as it's a healthy baby, that'll be all that matters to him.

"Then it'll be a boy," he answers, pecking her cheek, "we can have more than one. We can have three."

Three seems like the perfect number to him. Close in age, nearly identical in looks.

"What if the baby inherits my anxiety?" That's a question he wasn't prepared for.

It's very possible that their future children could share their mother's worrying thoughts and actions. Nearly everything these days is genetic. Coriolanus likes to believe that his genes will be more dominant, though, overpowering any genes that might cause a social hindrance for their child.

"If our baby has anxiety, then we'll both be well equipped on how to handle it, won't we?"

Coriolanus has had lots of practice bringing Soarynn back down to earth from a panic attack. He knows the steps to take, what to do, and what to say. He's an expert, in fact.

Soarynn slowly nods, warming up to the idea of starting a family with him after so long. Coriolanus has enjoyed every second alone with Soarynn, but neither of them married with the idea of staying childless for long. They have lots of rooms that can easily be transformed into nurseries.

"It would be nice," she admits, "and I could buy so many baby clothes."

Coriolanus laughs, of course, she's already thinking about the clothes. Some things never change. "Yes, darling, you can buy all the clothes you want."

He finally presses his lips to hers, a true love's kiss if he's ever had one. Soarynn believes in that type of stuff, in true love and finding your soulmate. He never believed in any of that until he met her.

She's changed him as a person, made him nicer, kinder, more patient, and gentle. The old Coriolanus would've scoffed at her panic attack today, written it off as hormones, and told her to get it together. Not anymore, though. He became better for her.

Soarynn returns the kiss eagerly, settling into his lap for the long haul. Their lips move in sync, familiar with each other after all these years. He brings one hand up to her face, gently holding it so he can take further control. She gives it to him so easily, always trusting him to take care of her. Soarynn sighs, it's been a long day for her.

After this, he'll draw her a nice warm bath. He'll brush her hair and braid it down her back. Then he'll help her get dressed and tuck her into bed with him.

Safe and loved, by his side. Where nothing can hurt her.

"Thank you for taking care of me today."

He smiles into the kiss, even in the most intimate moments, Soarynn is always polite.

"Of course," he murmurs against her lips, "I'll always take care of you."

He means it too, nothing's gonna hurt his baby.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @lovelylove268 @kickmybark @iswearicanfixhim @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf @evilmenarehot @cervvsq @snowgirl12 @matcha-muses @anisangeldust @snowsgames @wakdjenwowj |

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Explicit

Tags: PWP, plus sized reader, pnv!sex, Dom Bucky, dirty talk

A/N: this was an answer to an ask for plus sized reader and of course I loved it :)

Bucky had a skip in his step going down the street. He was done with all of the bullshit paperwork in the Flagsmashers aftermath. Sam was taking over mantle of Steve amazingly, Walker was ousted and shamed, and they even got Sharon back into the states. Although he wasn’t completely sure about her.

Regardless he could breathe and go see his sweetie. Perfect, patient, lovely, and owner of the most wondrous curves. Bucky had to keep his dick in his pants for now. He carried a bouquet of roses and some chocolates, hustling down the row of brownstones. His girlfriend was very talented in her career and managed to buy one for herself.

He fought back his giddy grin when rapping on the red wooden door. It slowly opened to reveal her pretty face, mussed hair, and adorable huge t-shirt. The man had to shove down his intense desire knowing that was his shirt. She yelped in surprise, practically launching on the super-soldier.

Bucky laughed and grabbed her under the ass to keep the crying thing from falling. He chuckled, “Hey, hey, you’ll mess up the chocolates hold on.” She grabbed the package blindly and tossed them on a side table. She nuzzled into his scruff, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

She sniffled, “Don’t need em- I got you.” The super soldier shook his head with a toothy smile, placing the flowers on another surface while leading the pair to the living room. He stroked her back in an attempt to quiet her crying. Bucky did not need to have the usual happy-go-lucky woman crying over the likes of him.

Sitting back onto the plush couch he murmured, “I’m back now, done, you’ll want to kick me out before the end of it.” His flesh hand thumbed away a tear and tipped her chin up. The girl wiped at her eyes and half-giggled and sobbed, “I know, I was so worried during it all. The news aren’t good for my nerves.”

Bucky wanted to sappily get lost in her watery eyes, framed by long clumped lashes. He murmured while stroking along her lush sides, “I can give you first hand doll,” he absently waved, “Tell me about you.” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Work, worrying, watching Alpine, I started a new project.”

As soon as the white cat was mentioned she appeared, purring and snuggling up to the pair. Bucky felt his eyes slightly water as he croaked, “There’s my sweet girl.” The cat let out a little ‘mrow?’ and promptly bit his hand. The couple busted into guffaws, Bucky snarking, “I guess that’s what I deserve.”

He leaned back, pulling his girl onto his chest.

“So tell me about that project, baby.”

He was listening to her talk about work and the project, really, but other things were starting to rear their head. She was so soft against him, lovely curves and pillowy breasts. The woman seemed sleepy recounting the latest news, words slightly stumbling. Bucky figured it was time for a wakeup call. So he grabbed a handful of ass, smirking lecherously.

She squeaked and bolted upright, gaping at Bucky. He snickered, “What?” She narrowed her eyes and groped his half-hard dick in return, the brunette’s eyes rolling with a breathy laugh. Bucky rumbled, “Sorry sweetheart, y’feel so good I lost control.” He squeezed again and nosed along her jaw— drawing out a gasp.

“Imagine how I’ve felt, toys don’t do the trick when I have a sexy super hero saving the world.”

Bucky grew jealous. He didn’t care if they were inanimate— only Bucky gets to watch his sweet girl lose herself in pleasure. He growled, “Oh yeah? What did you try?” She bit on her lower lip, eyes darting to the side, face flushing with embarrassment. Bucky ground his heavy cock against her thin underwear to goad her along.

She mumbled, “The vibrator, mm, then the shower one, y’know with the suction.”

He could’ve taken her right there imagining his girlfriend whining frustratedly on the dildo in the shower�� curves slick, soapy, and bouncing with her movements. Bucky nipped her bottom lip sharply, relishing in her whimper. He cooed, “Didn’t do ya’ a lick of good either huh baby? Needed this to treat you right.” He rutted again for good measure, cock throbbing insistently. She shivered on his thighs, eyes growing glossy in desire.

She whimpered, “B-Buck, please.”

He growled, “Open.”

The girl did so obediently, widening lax lips. Bucky tilted her head back and dropped some of his spit onto her tongue. He commanded, “Swallow.” She whined thinly, throat bobbing as she did so. Her plush thighs were practically vibrating on his toned ones.

“Please, fuck, fuck,” she cried, tears pricking.

Bucky grabbed a soft cheek forcefully and claimed her lips. She pressed forward clumsily, heavy tits on his chest and little hands wrenching his jacket. Bucky dominated the kiss, his baby too overcome to do much except weak kisses and drooling. He laughed while sucking on her tongue, plundering the cute thing’s mouth.

It was sloppy. Bucky was in heaven. He liked knowing he could reduce her to tears and careless kisses without even getting in her pants. She mouthed against his lips, practically rutting to get closer. Which on that note, he snuck a hand down her plush tummy to get at her pussy. She cried out again, gasping hotly into the super soldier’s mouth.

Bucky slid two flesh fingers across her weeping slit and groaned, “Fuck- sweetheart you’re so wet.” She warbled, “Missed you, please.” In a fitful movement, Bucky flipped her around on his lap. Full ass thickly against his cock and now all of her soft parts for him to grab freely. She seemed too dazed to register, whimpering at the manhandling.

Nibbling on her neck Bucky hummed, “Can you take my shirt off for me baby? Hm?”

She flushed and nodded shyly. He hated when she got shy, thinking her extra padding wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d laid eyes on. Bucky was a man, he wanted something to grab on when he fucked a girl stupid. She shucked off the shirt, almost curling in on herself.

“No- no- you better stop it. Still like ya’ curves doll,” he tutted.

An annoyed whine was his response.

So Bucky ripped off her underwear with his vibranium arm, donning a shit eating grin. The woman yelping and jolting on his cock. Bucky snickered, “That’s what ya’ get, now I get to see it all.” Her face flushed even prettier, swollen lips lax and wet. He grabbed handfuls of her soft tits and groaned deeply, massaging and tweaking the tender flesh.

Her head fell back again the brunette’s shoulder, brokenly whimpering his name. Bucky murmured, “So sweet, missed my baby.” He thumbed at a peaked nipple and circled around it, sending her ass rocking back against his throbbing cock. Regretfully leaving her breast, he slid his other hand to grope at plush hips and belly before drawing fingers against her slick cunt.

She urged breathlessly, “Oh, c’mon touch me bear, oh!”

He sucked a dark mark behind her ear while delving two vibranium fingers into her slick channel— hot, pulsing, and oh-so-soaked. He grunted in arousal, thrusting and curling his fingers. Bucky growled, “Be a good girl and ride my hand.” She nodded vigorously, mewling and canting her hips against the heel of his palm.

Bucky gritted his teeth to hold back from her ass rubbing perfectly along his strained dick. He had to compartmentalize. Objective one, make his Angel cum. Then he can have a go. She squealed on a perfectly timed curl of fingers on the g-spot and his smooth palm against her clit.

The man used his other hand to grab and pull at her bouncing breasts, mouth leaving a mess of marks all over her neck. She began to tremble, hands twitching to find purchase. His sweetie wailed, “Buck, oh goddd, m’so close baby!” The former assassin paused his bite to growl, “Let go, I know it feels s’good. Then I’ll fuck ya’ raw.”

That did the trick. She loved fucking raw. Bucky had an inkling his girl had been wanting him to knock her up. He wouldn’t mind, more tits, more curves, and a Junior. But Bucky was selfish and wanted her to himself for now— no sharing. Her gushing all over his hand brought Bucky out of his fantasies.

She sucked in deep breaths, exhaling with moans, body wracked with pleasure. Bucky cooed and eased her down, drawing his hand out of her. He could bust right now at the slick coating his pants. She turned and begged for a kiss silently, eyelashes fluttering.

They kissed again, softer this time, softly intertwining their tongues. She whispered into Bucky’s mouth, “Your turn, old man.” Bucky snickered and rolled his eyes dramatically, nipping her upper lip teasingly. She reached behind blindly to help him unbutton, lips sealing together with wet smacks.

Bucky moaned when his achy cock hit the air, her slick center so close to where he needed it buried. She mewled, “Take me, use me baby, get it out.” Later, the man would deny the absolutely pathetic noise he made. Bucky aligned the ruddy tip of his cock to her and gritted his jaw at being sheathed. Her back arched at the intrusion, mouthing at Bucky’s scruff.

He gripped onto her wide hips and lifted her up and down on his cock. Basically a cocksleeve at this point with the way Bucky was slamming his angry cock in. She cried and babbled at the rough treatment, incoherent slurs. Bucky choppily grunted and moaned, veins pulsing with sheer need. She felt so fucking good.

Bucky hissed, “That’s my- hah- best girl, bein’a good little fucktoy.”

She nodded deliriously, drool running down a corner or her gaping mouth, tits bouncing wildly as she held onto Bucky’s hands for dear life. The brunette was going to blow quick at this rate— his girl was sucking him in too good. She seized up and squeezed his dick like a vice.

She had cum again, only a shrill yelp and Bucky’s cock being throughly milked as the indicator. His baby fell limp against him, nuzzling into his sweaty cheek. His balls were full up and pulsing, ready to release. Another one, two, three pumps Bucky came with a loud cry of her name.

He slumped into the couch, still seating inside of his girlfriend while riding out the aftershocks. He could vaguely hear her whimpering about being full under the blood rushing in Bucky’s ears. He wrapped his arms around her soft midsection, suddenly very tired. She hissed, “Not there.”

Yawning, Bucky snorted, “No way in hell baby. Can’t a man hug the woman he loves who just made him see stars?”

She narrowed her eyes for a pause then pecked his lips. The woman murmured, “Fine. Since you’re the man I love who made me see stars two times.”

“Well I could count two since you’re in my lap.”

“Hush.”

[fanaticallyfleeky]

Come into my arms

Buck x Tommy | wc: 1,1k Not a really a spec fic but with all the spoilers and talk about [redacted] this got into my brain and now I make it everyones problem 🙃 Obviously spoilers ahead, read at your own risk!

Read here one ao3

Tommy takes one last look at the bed before he leaves the bedroom and closes the door. He leaves a small gap, not comfortable with closing it all the way. He wants to, needs to, hear if something happens. If he wakes up, and needs Tommy.

It’s not likely. After he exhausted himself, crying himself to sleep, Tommy hopes Buck will sleep through the night. 

Today was a lot, emotionally. It was draining. For everyone. But Tommy had seen the toll it was taking on Buck. Trying to stay strong for the past days, strong for Athena and May and Harry. For the rest of his team, even though everyone had someone to lean on. Buck had looked hopelessly lost. Alone. Drowning in grief and guilt. 

Radiating desperation for someone to hold him for a second. To hold him together and tell him he didn’t have to stay strong. That he was allowed to grieve. That it was not his fault. And it broke Tommy’s heart because he didn’t feel like he could be that for Buck. Tommy had no idea where they stood now. And it was not high on the priority list to ask. 

It hurt.

God, did it hurt. 

Because Bobby was a good man. One of the best. And Tommy might not have worked under him at the 118 as long as the others, but in that time Captain Nash had made a big impact on Tommy’s life. Like he had done for so many others. He had seen in Tommy what Tommy himself hadn’t known he needed at the time. He had set Tommy free in more ways than Bobby couldn’t have possibly known. 

And with a sickening blow, Tommy had realised earlier today that he had never actually thanked the man for that. And now he never will.

Seeing the 118 today, supporting each other, leaning on each other, hurt as well. He didn’t feel like he was supposed to be there. Not his place, not his family. 

Of course, Howie had hugged him, Eddie had nodded to him, and Hen had told him she was glad he was there. That it was right he was there with them. But he felt once again like the intruder. The outsider. 

Buck had only stared at him. Empty eyes, red-rimmed and dark circles. Tommy had wanted to walk up to him, gather him in his arms, hold him. Until Buck was ready to hold himself again. But he hadn’t. 

Because he had no idea where they stood.

Afterwards came the wake at the station. It was beautiful. Well-organised. But Tommy mainly remembers that he hadn’t seen Buck eat a single thing the whole day. How he had stood ramrod straight, bound to break. 

And break he did. Tommy had found him, outside. Around the corner, near the wash bay. Hyperventilating. Jacket of his dress blues ripped open and tugging desperately at his tie. Only then had Tommy finally allowed himself to step in. Loosened Buck’s tie with steady hands. Coached his breathing until the hyperventilating gasps turned into broken sobs. Wiped away the tears afterwards. 

Somehow they made their way back to Buck’s place after the wake. Buck hadn’t said a word but he had looked at Tommy with those big teary eyes and Tommy had followed without hesitation. 

Tommy tried to think it didn’t sting when Maddie looked genuinely surprised to see him when she came to check up on her brother. 

In the evening he had ushered Buck into the bathroom to take a shower. Hoping it would make him feel the tiniest bit better. But with every sob he heard through the closed bathroom door, Tommy’s heart cracked a little more. 

It didn’t take long after that for Buck to succumb to sleep, exhausted and all cried out. 

“He’s asleep”, Tommy softly says walking into Buck’s kitchen, watching Maddie pack away the last of the leftovers in the fridge. Looking at her baby bump he realises he hadn’t even congratulated them. It doesn’t feel like the right moment now either.   She lacked the pregnancy glow. And not just because of the gnarly scar across her throat that made Tommy wince. So much has happened in the last months. So much he missed from a distance.

“If you want to go home to Howie and Jee,” he started carefully, “I’m planning on staying here… to keep an eye on him.” 

Maddie turns to him as he leans against the counter. For a moment she just stares at him. Intently. Like she’s waiting for him to give the correct answer to a question she didn’t ask but he is supposed to just know.  

Whatever she isn’t saying, is speaking volumes. She raises one, unimpressed, eyebrow. The unspoken ‘are you really staying this time’ echoes loudly in the kitchen. 

And he gets it. He broke her baby brother’s heart. It was foolish to think she would be happy to see him anywhere near Buck. 

Tommy squirms under her gaze and swallows, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The other eyebrow joins the first and he feels like no matter what he says to her, it will be wrong either way. 

He wants to tell her that he doesn’t know what to do. That everything is messed up and nothing feels right. That he still has no clue where he and Buck stand but that everything in his body is screaming at him not to leave Buck alone tonight.

He doesn’t say any of that.

But at the front door, just before she leaves she turns to him, “he has a guest room now. At least use that.” 

It feels like a consolation prize. 

Hours later, in that guest room, Tommy doesn’t think he has been truly asleep when he hears the squeaky door opening. More stuck in that weird limbo between awakeness and sleep. Slumbering because he is so goddamn tired but too vigilant to truly fall asleep. 

Soft shuffles of socked feet on the floor. The mattress dipping on his side of the bed. 

Tommy shuffles backwards. The duvet lifts and in crawls a sleep-warm body. He hums as Buck curls up into an impossibly small ball against his chest, all 6”2 folded neatly together and tucked under Tommy’s chin. 

A soft sniffle, followed by another, and another. 

A wavering voice whispers, “can I please stay here tonight?”

His arms instinctively close around Buck, thumbs caressing the soft skin, nose buried in his curls. And as he feels Buck’s breath even out, his body growing heavier in Tommy’s arms, he can’t help but think, 

“Please stay here forever”.

[serickswrites]

Wake Up II

Part 1

Warnings: grief, mourning, presumed dead, betrayal, kidnapping, implied future torture, unclear character status, drugging

Whumpee was still in deep mourning for Lover. They had been for a long time. They knew they shouldn't be grieving this deeply, that they should be over it by now, but they couldn't get over it. They couldn't get over that Lover was dead. That Lover was never coming home.

And so they went through the motions of their day, alive, but not present. There, but not there. Because Lover wasn't there.

"It's not fair," they said as they climbed into their empty bed. "It's not fair that Whumper killed you first. It's not fair that Whumper hid your body somewhere we will never find it. It's not," Whumpee's voice cracked as they began to sob, "fair that I didn't get to say goodbye."

Whumpee cried themself to sleep every night. Tonight would be no different. But as sleep began to suck them under, they heard keys jingling in their front door. Their eyes wrenched open.

"Whumpee," Lover's voice called, "I'm home."

This had to be a trap. This couldn't be true. Whumper bragged about killing Lover. Bragged and flaunted it to Whumpee. This couldn't be real.

"Whumpee, where are you, love?" Lover called louder.

"This is just a dream. Just a dream," Whumpee muttered as they got out of bed. "I just need to go look and the house will be empty like it always is."

But when Whumpee walked downstairs they froze. In the entryway, looking as healthy was ever, was Lover. Lover was here. "Lover!" They shouted as they ran down the final few steps and threw themself into Lover's arms.

"I thought you were dead. I thought Whumper killed you. You're alive! You're alive!" Whumpee was crying again. These were tears of joy. Lover was alive!

Lover's arms tightened around them. Lover leaned down, their lips on Whumpee's ear. "Of course I'm still alive, Whumpee. Whumper would never kill me."

Whumpee tried to pull back but found they couldn't. Their limbs suddenly became heavy as they sank deeper into Lover's arms. "Wha'?"

Lover chuckled as they pulled back so that Whumpee could see their face. "Whumper would never kill me. Not when I hired them to hurt you."

Whumpee's legs felt like jelly. They weren't sure if it was whatever made them feel weak or if it was the realization that Lover had betrayed them. "'y?" Their mouth wasn't cooperating with their brain. Their head felt fuzzy.

"Because, Whumpee," Lover smirked, "I enjoy playing with my food before I eat it. I enjoy watching my prey get hurt before I get my turn. And Whumper did such a great job. But, I'm ready to finish what I started."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat @sowhumpful @whump-till-ya-jump @books-bring-me-joy

[ondeemand]

Transformers One Review

For the sake of convenience, I’ll be referring to the characters as their new names (Optimus Prime, Megatron, Bumblebee) instead of their old ones (Orion Pax, D-16, B-127).

Also, I didn’t grow up with Transformers, so this will be mostly from an outsider’s perspective. I can’t tell what possibly was or wasn’t a retcon or how accurate to the source material it was, but I think the background info on their world held up very well and they were able to explain it clearly to new viewers like me. It definitely would have hit harder if I grew up with Transformers and knew more than just facts from cultural osmosis, but I still enjoyed the movie a lot.

Notes/Things I’m Neutral On

Very weird to hear my name (Dee) being said throughout most of the movie by Chris Hemsworth’s bad American accent.

Also, I forgot that Megatron has transformed into ground vehicles before. I only ever knew him to turn into a jet, so I was kind of confused that he was a tank in this movie. I hope we get to see him get upgraded to a jet in the next one, but the tank is still cool.

Pros/Things I Liked

Simple but effective color theory with their eye colors. Main good guys have blue while Megatron has yellow, sitting between good and bad. Still a friendly color at first, but slowly turns closer to orange and then fully red as his anger and hatred consume him (and after he met the red-eyed Starscream, a cowardly man who ends up enabling Megatron‘s more violent/aggressive tendencies)

○ Also I don’t know if I was just seeing things, but it looked like Megatron’s eyes got more yellow whenever he looked at Optimus which is so sad and so gay.

I really thought they were gonna push a romance between Elita and either Bumblebee (goofy manchild x competent woman trope) or Optimus (male lead x female lead, blue x pink), but I was pleasantly surprised that they didn’t. Sadly, there’s still time for it in future installments, but I can dream.

Not to be gay, but spider woman sexy. Airachnid was so obviously evil that it was funny, but I can’t fault Sentinel for having her around because I, too, would want a deadly goth woman to be my right-hand lady. They felt like the evil, less developed versions of Mustang and Hawkeye. I am in love.

The animation is gorgeousssss. The environments, the character designs, the fight choreography, the transformations, the lighting, the texture, mwah mwah MWAH STUNNING!!!

○ Sorry, I’m never gonna stop talking about this. The way they were able to make square/blocky figures move so fluidly was fantastic (and proof of concept that a fully animated Minecraft movie would have worked). ○ The camera angles were also great for framing both the dramatic, intense, and/or high-action moments like fights or chase scenes, while also adding a lot to the comedic moments. Like when the camera stays tracking Optimus’ face when running through the forest, only for him to suddenly fall down a cliff neither he nor us saw coming, only to then zoom out to the perspective of the guards below, showing them stumbling and falling. ○ The contrast between the mechanical and organic elements on the surface were really cool, and the way it was introduced was able to convey this idea that organic life was this strange, alien thing. ○ The way the surface just rebuilds itself into these jagged, blocky terrains was really unique and interesting! It felt like a glitched computer model because of its rougher shapes which really added to the fear and hostility of the surface.

90% of their jokes landed and they landed hard. The bit where Optimus looks like he’s about to transform and then just fucking books it is incredible. The audio and camera work help add to these as well, like the music building as Optimus pretends to transform, the camera zooming in close to different parts of him, only for all background noise to cut out as it shows Optimus running away. I won’t name every joke and quip I found funny or we’d be here all day, but they’re certainly a highlight of the movie.

I love Keegan-Michael Key, but I wasn’t a fan of him as the comic relief character of Toad in the Mario movie. When Bumblebee showed up I got a little nervous, but I really loved his performance of the character.

I really liked the midpoint pep talk about hope. That’s a really nice reason that Optimus is the leader despite not being as skilled as other people. He has the hope for a better future and it was a core part of his character from the beginning, and I really like the idea that a leader is someone who can envision a brighter future no matter what.

Alpha Trion transforming was SICK AS FUCK!!! I love that he was more animalistic when the rest of the cast become vehicles. His final fight was so cool, and it actually made me kind of emotional to see him at the end with the rest of the Prime ghosts.

The stabbings? The beheadings?? The branding??? The way Megatron tore Sentinel in half and then ripped his heart out on-screen holy shit???? This movie was incredibly brutal and I loved it. It’s such an interesting phenomenon that children’s media is allowed to be about as graphic as they want as long as it’s against robots, even incredibly sentient ones like in the Transformers series.

○ I watched the 1986 Transformers movie for a class earlier this year, and while it also had a lot of brutality in it’s fights, the new movie felt more intense. Part of this could be attributed to me watching the 2024 movie on a big screen vs the 1986 movie in my living room, but there are other reasons as well. The 1986 movie had more upbeat songs playing over the fights, specifically songs like The Touch and Dare, which helped keep the tone lighter and more exciting. The 2024 movie didn’t have anything like that, allowing the action, while still cool and exciting, to take on a more serious tone. This is also emphasized by the graphics of the movie being 3D instead of 2D. While the 2D 1986 movie is a stunning masterpiece, people still view it with the idea in mind that, since it’s a cartoon, the stakes and story will be less intense. The 2024 movie being 3D with very detailed graphics and lighting already has more visual intensity. The characters are still these bright, poppy colors, but they can come across more moody and dark due to the environments, lighting, and textures that the 3D medium more easily allows. And while the painted backgrounds and cell shading of the old movie are great, the CGI backgrounds are a lot closer to realism, so the harsher elements like metal and rock, which make up a vast majority of the environment and characters, look real too.

The way Megatron’s hate consumed him to the point where he started acting more villainous and, while not entirely similar to Sentinel, still ended up hurting innocent people was tragic. Trying to push away and deny everything about a person only to wind up being just like them. This was perfectly shown in the end credit scene where Megatron is branding himself and the new Decepticons with Megatronus Prime’s face. To him, it may be him reclaiming the traumatic experience and literally using it like a badge of honor, as well as thinking he’s honoring Megatronus Prime. But in reality, he’s just inflicting the same trauma done to him onto others, just like Sentinel. Such a cool way to show how every villain is the hero of their own story.

The doomed yaoiiiiii I’m never gonna get over them. The only other Transformers media I’ve consumed is the 1986 movie, which kills off Optimus Prime in the first 25 minutes and Megatron becomes Galvatron, so I never knew the depths of their homoerotic relationship.

I’m a sucker for “the hero and villain used the be friends (and maybe even lovers?)” trope, so Optimus and Megatron’s relationship and the general premise of the movie was already a slam dunk for me.

I’m also a fan of legacy stories like Avatar and She-Ra. While this movie didn’t get as in-depth with the concept, I enjoyed that they played with the idea of legacy and taking up the mantle of the former Primes.

I absolutely loved the end message that Optimus gives us. Hope, freedom, and autonomy are incredibly important things to learn, and as a trans person who very much wants to keep control over what I do with my body, I really resonated with that last one. I think it’s really cool that they included a message like that in this children’s movie about robots that turn into cars.

Regarding the message of autonomy, I love that it gives the term Autobots a new meaning. Auto meaning “automobile”, since they transform into cars, and Auto meaning “self”, as they are now fully their own bots with control over themselves.

Cons/Things I Disliked

Mid vocal performances from everyone except Brian Tyree Henry and Keegan-Michael Key. And as I mentioned before, it was hard not to focus on Chris’ attempts at an American accent, not to mention how recognizable his, as well as Scarlett Johansson’s, voices are.

The plot felt a little disjointed in the first 1/3-ish.

○ Good setup with the main characters being an oppressed working class with one dreaming of better things and the other hesitant to fall out of line or take risks. But then suddenly there’s a race, and then they’re in it, and then they lose, and then their leader wants to promote them. At first it feels like there are hints that he’s a scummy celebrity-type and that meeting their hero is what will spur on the disillusionment with their society. But then some random douchebag that doesn’t like them reassigns them which goes against their leader’s command, and that’s how the plot kicks off? ○ Also, Elita’s involvement felt kind of rushed/hand-waved. They all get stuck on the surface, but instead of trying to make her way back to report them like she was saying she would for the past few minutes, she makes a complete 180 and heads the expedition herself. ○ It all just felt a little strange, but once it got going the rest of the plot felt fine.

Megatron’s descent into “evil” felt kind of rushed. I understand that he feels betrayed and I really love where the character ends up by the end, but it felt like a real 180 without a lot of build up.

Some jokes fell flat or felt annoying and kinda cringe. That’s the territory of children’s movies though, so par for the course.

TLDR

Overall, this movie was a really fun watch and I’d love to go see it again. While some parts fall a little flat, the movie is lifted from mediocrity by its many Pros. From the stunning visuals, to the quick humor, to the tragic origins of two friends driven apart by their ideals, I’d recommend this movie to anyone interested in animation or the Transformers brand.

8.82/10

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[awomanunkind]

the messy hair hanging around the headphones oh my god just kill me now

[melissa-leaf]

this man just broke my heart

[acourtofquestions]

"Everything I did was for them, you know." His chest ached. "For your kids?" She studied her hands, the imposing ruby ring on one of her fingers. "I haven't seen them since they were eighteen months old. Not even a picture." But she'd known them on sight today. Had known what grade they'd be in, remembered where the school was on this ship, and run directly there.

[beanghostprincess]

Help I just finished the usopp v luffy fight and now I'm crying (I know what happens later and I knew this was coming but still)

I can give you a hug, a gun, or a therapist. I personally recommend the first one because I don't have money for a therapist and you need to live to keep watching the show so. Yeah. Do you want a hug-